


Illusion of Nobility

by moo_shu



Series: Moth To A Flame [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: And Arthur is still working through everything, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, He's also a dumbass but we been known, Merlin is still lighting himself on fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moo_shu/pseuds/moo_shu
Summary: Another expedition is called roughly two months after the last. “She’s here.” Merlin says, eyes never leaving the tent, but Arthur doesn’t care because he’s halfway across the dirt and tearing open the tent flaps, and–
Series: Moth To A Flame [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990852
Comments: 17
Kudos: 108





	Illusion of Nobility

The next few weeks are filled with a strange sort of anticipation. 

Anticipation for what, Arthur isn’t quite sure. His questions come easy (Can you do anything else besides set yourself on fire? Can you turn people into toads? Can you turn _toads_ into _people?)_ and Merlin’s answers come hesitant, but more quickly and open the more time that passes (Yes, I can do a lot more than fire magic. Uh, yes I guess I probably could? Gross! No, I definitely would never do that!)

Arthur’s days are split between training the knights, his royal duties, and questioning Merlin about various magical curiosities. 

It’s peaceful, but in a stressful sort of way. Especially since Morgana’s absence still hangs over the whole kingdom like a heavy shackle, none more affected by the weight of it than the king.

More and more frequently, his father calls for him to share meals or have private chats. Usually, these things tend to be centered around Morgana - where she might be, how they might track her down, and what they might do to Morgause once they’ve defeated the witch and returned Morgana to her rightful place. That last one was becoming a more and more popular topic the longer Morgana was missing. 

These conversations...disturbed him. For more than a few reasons, with the main one being: how did Uther plan to hold a witch as powerful as Morgause captive? That is, if they could even hold her captive in the first place. 

Arthur was just a babe during the height of Purge and throughout his knighthood, there actually had not been a single sorcerer that he’d been tasked with individually tracking down and capturing himself (the Dragonlord not included - that was desperate times, and he hadn’t chained the man up anyways, nor had he ever had the intention to do so in the first place). 

Therefore he had no idea how one would even ensure a magic user didn’t just wait until their captors were asleep and, well, magic themselves free. His father wasn’t very forthcoming with the knowledge either. Arthur had asked throughout the years how it could be done, and he’d never received a straight answer. 

It’s something he’s been hesitant to bring up with Merlin as well. Things were still a bit...fragile, for lack of a better word, between them. Or, more accurately, Merlin still had a hunted sort of look lingering in the back of his eyes whenever they discussed anything magic, and Arthur didn’t want to bring sorcerer-grade restraints to the table until he could be sure his manservant wouldn’t have a panic attack at the very thought. 

Perhaps it was something that would have to be brought up sooner rather than later though - despite how these little chats with his father often disturbed him, they did highlight the fact that Camalot had no true defense against major magical threats. They’d had a stroke of luck with the dragon, and so far Morgause had kept her distance (for the most part) but that was not a guaranteed thing. She would make her move eventually, and they would have to be prepared. 

But besides all that, there was also no honor in torturing a defeated opponent. If life worked in their favor, and Morgana was returned to them whole and healthy, and by some miracle they were able to nullify the witch’s power and defeat her, then she should be granted the same accommodations all other warring enemies of their kingdom were granted - a public execution that decisively ended the conflict between them. Or, even more ideally, an honorable death on the battlefield. 

What his father was talking about...it wasn’t right. 

“There is a cavern below the palace,” Uther had confessed during one of their shared dinners, “A dark and depressing place that travels deep beneath the surface of the earth. My own father once told me that if you went deep enough, you could reach the gates of hell themselves.”

The king’s voice is low and menacing as he speaks, staring intently into the jeweled edges of his goblet. Arthur is hardly able to repress a shudder at the coldness of his father’s words. “The caverns were sealed off years ago, before even your grandfather was around. It’s not impossible to get down there though - I’ve been a handful of times myself, but I’ve always wondered at the truth of his statement. There is an unnaturalness down there that almost seems to suck the life out of you.” 

Putting aside the implications of their castle possibly being built on top of a gateway to hell, Arthur pokes a bit at his half-full plate. Talk of these formerly unknown caverns had seemingly come out of nowhere, but considering how the majority of their shared meals have gone recently, Arthur thinks he knows why his father had brought them up. “Were these caverns ever used for anything?” He asks, half-dreading the answer. 

And he is right to dread it. His father gives a dark laugh, taking a deep swig of his drink. “Oh yes, the caverns made a lovely prison for those accursed sorcerers.”

“Mh,” he hums. Whatever appetite he’d had left swiftly leaves him. Arthur was a knight. He was accustomed to violence - talks of executing criminals had never been pleasant, but it had been necessary work. This was not ‘necessary work.’ What his father was talking about was straight up torture. And that didn’t even begin to touch on the possible issue of condemning innocent born-sorcerers to death...How many had Uther thrown into these caves had been born with their magic? 

Unwillingly, his mind flashes to Merlin. Merlin, in chains, a gag around his mouth to prevent spells (although, that wouldn’t do much to stop him). Merlin, being dragged into the depths of the castle. Arthur cannot repress his shiver at the thought this time. Luckily for him, his father is more focused on picturing Morgause as the one being dragged below the castle to take notice. 

“Perhaps I’ll have that witch imprisoned,” Uther intones, stabbing a chunk of roast carrot with his fork. “The caverns are really all one big maze, once you’re past a certain point. And there are only two entrances - the one in the lower castle, and one that leads a bit past the outer walls. That one has been walled off quite tightly though. I doubt even a roach could get through.” 

The few bites of food he’d managed to get down earlier roll uncomfortably in his stomach. “She is a sorcerer though, father. Couldn’t she just use her magic to escape?” He’d never gotten an answer before, but it never hurt to try again. 

“Bah!” The king snorts, “Not even one of her dirty magic spells could free her from the restraints found down there.”

Restraints. That was new. And _found down there._ What did that mean? Before he can ask for details though, Uther continues in a chilling voice, “She will rot for all eternity below us, condemned to a lifetime of darkness. She will never again feel the heat of the sun. Perhaps she’ll become desperate and travel deeper down to be consumed by the hell gates. Or perhaps she’ll live for decades, surviving off rodents and stagnant cave water. Either way, it will be a fitting end for a filthy sorcerer like her, who thought they could stand against the crown.”

A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his father's face. Arthur does his best to look properly impressed with it all. “Now,” Uther continues, “I was thinking of upping the reward for new information on Morgana’s possible whereabouts. Take a look here, I’ve circled the area we’ve had the most successful sightings in. Have a few servants head out tomorrow to spread the news...”

Uther continues to monologue, and Arthur makes sure to nod and hum at all the appropriate moments. But he was distracted. Restraints. _Magic_ restraints, apparently beneath the castle. The castle that had supposedly been built on top of some gates to hell - and how had he never heard of _that_ before? The most he’d ever heard of was the rumor that his father had trapped a dragon beneath the castle. 

_‘...a fitting end for a filthy sorcerer…’_

He can’t help the shiver that prickles his spine. His father...well, he’d always hated magic. He’d always talked about how it was evil. How it corrupted. How it took and twisted and ruined people, until they were no longer recognizable or they were dead. 

But his hatred had never been like this. It had never consumed him to the point of planning to inflict this kind of torture on someone, sorcerer or not. The magic cullings had always been swift and precise. A necessary evil, he’d called it. Trimming the diseased parts out, so the healthy, untainted people could thrive. 

Something had changed within him, something that seemingly was connected with the witch Morgause, and her kidnapping of Morgana. 

Whatever that change was, it had done to Uther exactly what he’d always preached magic did to others. It had twisted his mind, warping him into someone that apparently had no qualms about leaving someone to rot for eternity in a dark pit. 

Later, when Uther has finished instructing him on what to have the servants spread out to the rest of the kingdom, Arthur walks slowly through the empty corridors, watching his breath fog up in swirling patterns from the cool night air. 

It’s way too cold for a midnight stroll, but the chill is bracing and ensures there are no pesky eavesdroppers spying on him as he meanders through the castle towards his rooms. Morgana was still missing. It’s been a year - over a year, since she’d been reliably identified, and there’s hardly been a single crumb of information on whatever Morgause is out there doing. 

For a while, life in Camelot had seemed to simply come to a halt. Feasts had been put on hold, tournaments postponed, and all available resources had been sent out en-masse to investigate any smidge of rumor about where Morgana might’ve been hidden away. 

Arthur had gone along with it, in the beginning. Because, well, why wouldn’t he?

He missed Morgana too. She was like a sister to him, and every day she’s gone is another day Arthur can’t help but torture himself with thoughts of what her captors might be doing to her. He feels powerless, and useless, and so _stupid,_ because maybe if he hadn’t humored Morgause’s obvious manipulations, none of this would’ve ever happened to begin with. 

Maybe, his father wouldn’t have started this descent into madness, focusing on the retrieval of Morgana over everything else - including the wellbeing of their people and their kingdom. 

Maybe he would still be ignorant of Merlin’s magic, and not forced to think about how many innocents Camelot, no, _his father,_ might’ve put to death. Death’s he’s been a part of, in recent years. 

Sighing, Arthur turns a bend. Moonlight illuminates the exterior corridor through a dozen different window openings. That’s not fair. None of this was Merlin’s fault. The truth would still be the truth, even if he was unaware of it. Honestly, it’s probably a blessing in disguise that he’d found out about Merlin’s magic.

Arthur would be king one day. And as king, he would be responsible for passing judgement and keeping order within his kingdom. And what kind of king would he have become, if he’d continued to enforce Uther’s total ban on anything magic? Continued to kill innocents, people whose only ‘crime’ was being born with something his father held such a deep hatred for?

The doors to his rooms squeak open almost menacingly. He dresses himself for bed in a daze, hardly even noticing the crackling fire burning in the hearth. 

It is a long and cold night. 

\---

Another expedition is called roughly two months after the last. The knights receive a tip from a village on the outskirts of the Forest of Ascetir. Morgause’s forces have been spotted moving westward, and Arthur is hoping that they can cut them off before they get too far across the border.

He was skeptical when they first set out - this isn’t the first time knowledge of Morgause’s movements have been passed along to them, but it’s never worked out in the past. 

However, the further they travel from Camelot, the more apparent it is that some type of large party had passed through not long before them. The Druids were known to travel these lands though, and there’s no way to be certain who exactly was stomping around in the trees, not unless-

Not unless they could somehow spy on whoever it was from afar. He chews thoughtfully on his bread for a moment, watching as his manservant putters around their makeshift camp. They’re just stopped for lunch and haven’t been riding their horses hard, but Merlin is still running his hands down each of their legs, checking for any sort of bump or scratch. “Merlin,” he calls out suddenly, tearing off another chunk of his bread, “I’d like you to do something for me.”

“Oh? What a surprise.” Merlin replies dryly, moving onto their last horse. He gently nudges its back-left leg, but doesn’t appear to find anything worrying. “What does your royal prattiness need done?”

Swallowing his bread, Arthur takes a swig of water, washing the dryness from his throat. “I’d like you to use spying magic to look ahead and see who it is we’re following here. If it’s really Morgause, or if it’s a band of Druids.” He says it calmly and without looking away from Merlin’s form. Therefore, he sees the exact second his manservant realizes what he’s said. 

He freezes in place and the color bleeds from his face. He opens his mouth to respond at least twice, but nothing comes out either time. Arthur shoves another piece of bread in his mouth in an effort to fight the hysterical laughter trying to bubble up from his chest. 

Out of the four knights that had accompanied him and Merlin on this quest, all are loyal to him, and all but Sir Leon have been trained by him. He thinks...no, he _knows_ they’re all trustworthy. None of them will turn Merlin in, especially if it’s Arthur asking them not to.

That doesn’t make this situation any less stressful though. And there’s always the possibility that he’d overestimated one of his knights’ true loyalties. 

Finally, Merlin seems to get a hold of himself. “I-Arth-”

Or maybe not. “You heard me Merlin,” he says, standing from his spot on the ground and taking a few steps forward. The knights are all deathly quiet, and none of them so much as twitch. “Use a magic spell to determine who’s been stomping around the forest before us. It’s not a difficult demand, I don’t think. Quite simple even, for a sorcerer like yourself.” 

For another tense moment, Merlin remains frozen in place, looking over at him with such an intense expression of shock that Arthur starts to think he might’ve broken him. But then, a red flush appears at his collar, and Arthur’s seen Merlin’s lava-skin enough times now to recognize it as it creeps up his neck.

Slowly, his manservants face morphs into something dangerous. “What.” He snaps out, “Just what are you saying?”

 _No,_ Arthur thinks, _dangerous is the wrong word._ ‘Scared’ was more accurate - Merlin’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides, but Arthur could spot them shaking. His mouth was downturned in a sneer, but his eyes were wide and glossy and filled with fear. _It’s the lava-skin,_ Arthur determines. The blatant display of magic was simply coloring his perception.

The slide of metal sounds behind him, and shit, the knights. Thinking fast, he turns his back to Merlin and addresses the knights. All four of them have their swords drawn now, and had their eyes glued on Merlin’s fiery form. “Ah, see? He’s certainly capable of a simple spying spell. I’m sure turning your skin to lava is loads harder than that.”

“Turning…?” He hears behind him, followed by a soft, _“Fuck.”_

“Arthur,” Leon says in a guarded tone, “What’s going on?” 

“Merlin’s a sorcerer,” he replies easily, ignoring said sorcerer sputtering behind him. “A rather useless one though, that lights on fire whenever he’s feeling a bit of stress, but a sorcerer nonetheless.”

“Arthur!” Merlin shouts from behind him, _“What are you doing?”_

And wasn’t that the million dollar question...what _was_ he doing? Just like when he’d confronted Merlin, he hadn’t thought it through much. The idea had popped into his mind, and he’d just gone with it - but really, how was Arthur expecting this to end? 

“...Learning something new.” Arthur finally settles on saying. It comes out a bit softer than he’d intended, so he follows it up with a brisk, “Or at least I’m trying to _Mer_ lin. I can’t really learn anything if you don’t get a move on, now can I?”

He’s still facing the knights (who thankfully, have lowered their swords), so he can’t see Merlin’s expression, but he imagines it’s turned soppy and emotional, like Merlin’s face was prone to do. He does hear his manservant let out a frustrated huff though. 

“Alright,” Arthur says abruptly, “Let’s everyone put away the swords and sit down. Give the sorcerer some space to do his magic.”

“Arthur…” he hears Merlin growl behind him, and very deliberately turns and strides back over to where he’d been eating his lunch. Arthur plops down in the dirt, and gestures broadly around him.

“Well?” He asks as casually as he can manage, “I believe I gave an order. We’ve been tailing whoever this is for days now, and I’m really quite cross you haven’t offered your services earlier, Merlin. Imagine if we’d known before we even set out if this trip was even worth spending our resources on! We’ll certainly be having words about this later, but for now, hurry up and get on with it.”

Now that he can see Merlin’s face again, Arthur maybe, possibly, just the tiniest bit, starts to worry that he’s messed up. His manservant face is crossed somewhere between furious and incredulous, and Arthur gets the feeling Merlin would rather punch him than perform magic right now. 

“Your Highness,” Leon speaks up hesitantly “I...see the wisdom in your words.” And very deliberately, Leon sheaths his sword. He gives Merlin a hard look, and then a small nod, and then paces forward and takes his place beside Arthur on the ground. 

The other three knights - Sir Bedevere, Sir Artemis, and Sir Gavin - look hesitantly around at each other, before also sheathing their swords as well and sitting down cautiously next to Leon. All five of them look to Merlin then, and Arthur waves his hand in a ‘get going’ motion.

Merlin continues to look at them all with a dumb expression of shock, skin still swirling with fire. After a moment though, he takes a deep breath and seems to collect himself. The fire of his skin dims somewhat, and he eventually says “...Fine. But I don’t really know any spying spells. I suppose I could try…”

Trailing off, Merlin closes his eyes. Nothing changes for a moment, and the giddy nerves from requesting his manservant perform magic start to calm. Anticipation takes the place of anxiety, and he watches intently as Merlin continues to stand there and breathe evenly.

A breeze flutters through the trees, and something in the air shifts. The scent of _something wild_ follows the wind. Arthur can almost feel the rumble of thunder and misty rain against his skin.

But there is no storm. The air is clear and crisp, the sky free of clouds. That doesn’t stop the impending feeling of a thunderstorm from prickling against his senses though, and looking around at his knights, he’s not the only one that feels it. 

Suddenly, Merlin’s eyes snap open, blazing a molten gold, and the swirling red-orange of his skin flares brightly back to life. “N-north,” he stammers out, scrambling for the nearest horse (which happens to be Arthur’s prized traveling stallion) and swinging himself on its back. “North. She’s north.” And with that, he takes off into the forest.

\---

Merlin is traveling fast, but Arthur and the knights are quick to pack their things and catch up. He sticks out against the bright greens and whites of the forest, and all they have to do is follow the bright glow of his skin.

“Merlin!” He calls when they catch up, “Merlin wait! Who’s north?”

 _“Morgana.”_ He calls back, and then urges his horse forwards.

And Arthur hadn’t expected that. They’ve been searching for months now, without a single positive sign. Honestly, Arthur had started to think in the darkest parts of his mind that Morgana might’ve been dead.

Why would Morgause keep her otherwise? There had been no demands. There had been no taunts. There had only been silence. If Morgause had wanted to use her as leverage somehow, it would’ve made much more sense to drag her out and torture her in some public way - that would’ve been guaranteed to get back to Uther, and would have driven him absolutely insane.

But north. How far north? Close enough that they could reach her in a day? How heavily guarded was she? Would the six of them be able to rescue her? Could they do it today?

Arthur doesn’t have too much time to contemplate these questions though, because Merlin keeps going, and going, and going, before suddenly turning his horse sharply to the right, and bursting out into a clearing. Arthur sees him pull his horse up short a few paces out of the tree-line, and thinks _finally._ And then he steers his horse into the clearing as well, and thinks _oh shit._

Tents are dotted along the clearing, with smoldering campfires and makeshift workbenches. There are also roughly twenty men staring over at them in shock. The other knights pull up behind him, and he hears Sir Bedevere let out a curse.

“She’s here.” Merlin says cryptically, and then all hell breaks loose.

 _“Intruders!”_ One of the men in the clearing yells, and Arthur suddenly finds himself in the middle of battle. It’s nothing like any fight he’s fought before though.

He’s not the focus of their enemies' attacks, for one - that privilege goes to Merlin, who’s still lit up like a bonfire. Cursing inwardly, Arthur lunges forward, drawing his sword and slashing wildly at the few enemies that have focused on him. 

Peripherally, he’s aware that his knights have all drawn their swords and are fending off attacks of their own. Most of the enemies stay focused on Merlin though, whose eyes and skin blaze a violent gold-red in the afternoon light. He’s quite a sight, sitting on top of one of Camelot’s finest horses and boldly staring down the people who probably kidnapped Morgana.

Two of them lunge at Merlin suddenly, swords drawn, and the illusion of nobility surrounding him is shattered. He’s unarmed, and having some sort of weird magic fit, and Arthur’s horse wickers nervously but holds his ground, and-

Before he can even shout a warning, a cool wind picks up and the _danger-wild-thunder_ scent follows. One of the ruffians drops his sword with a yell, and Arthur watches in fascination as the metal melts into a molten pile on top of his feet. The man goes down screaming and doesn’t get back up.

The second man hardly fairs any better. While his sword doesn’t melt, it _does_ transform into a large silver snake in his hands, wrapping around his arms and torso and squeezing until he falls over and also stays down.

Arthur gets distracted by his own fight at that point, but almost feels as if he’s in a daze. He’d known that Merlin was a sorcerer - he’d seen it with his own eyes, even! But _this_ was very different from heating one's skin to keep warm. And it was a lot different than the silly toad-questions he’d been peppering Merlin with over the past few weeks. This was magic made for battle.

He fells three enemies in a row, and sees his knights following suit. Occasionally a bright flash or an unexpected noise will draw his eyes back towards Merlin, who is still sat upon his horse with blazing eyes and skin.

Eventually, the last of enemy fighters is taken down, and the six of them are left in the clearing. The air is hot - hotter, Arthur would wager, than midday on a summer afternoon. Which, considering it’s the middle of winter, is _hot._

Sweat drips down his brow, and his muscles feel lethargic and weak. The harsh sounds of the knight’s breathing resonates with the agitated huffs and stomping of the horses.

“My lord,” Sir Artemis calls out hesitantly, “Er…” 

Turning to face his knight, Arthur’s eyes track what’s caught Artemis’s attention, and of course it’s Merlin. He’d lost track of his manservant in the chaos of the fight, only peripherally aware of the spells flashing out around them all.

Merlin still sits atop his horse, eyes and skin still blazing in a brilliant flame. His winter cloak is thrown haphazardly over his shoulders, trailing behind him like a dark brand. Smoke puffs from his mouth on every exhale, and his eyes are fixated on a tent towards the edge of the clearing.

“She’s here.” Merlin says, eyes never leaving the tent, but Arthur doesn’t care because he’s halfway across the dirt and tearing open the tent flaps, and–

And there she is. Morgana.

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out I had today off. What better way to spend the day?


End file.
